


A Dream and a Promise

by opalmatrix



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold autumn night after the return of the Eagle, Esca and Marcus have a heart-to-heart talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream and a Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Beta by [**Firerose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Firerose/pseuds/Firerose), who reminded me of things I'd left out, for which I am grateful!

Rollling hills unfolded at Esca's feet, covered with heather that was silver in the moonlight. Hoofbeats sounded behind them.

"Run," said Marcus, and they ran, ran, ran, until the heather grew up and twined about their weary legs and pulled them to the ground and held them tight for the wild hunt to find them, bound and helpless.

No, thought Esca. I am dreaming. I will not dream this.

Instead, dream of the little copse where they lay snug together, both ragged cloaks about them, trying to warm each other, and hands strayed and slipped beneath rough woolen cloth and stained linen, finding warm skin and stroking to stoke a fire within … .

Esca's eyes opened to the dimness of Marcus' chamber at Aquila's house in Calleva. He was on his own straw pallet across Marcus' doorway, with the familiar comfort of blankets wrapped about him. The room smelled like Marcus, with the faintest undertone of burning wood from the hypocaust. Esca need not sleep here, Marcus had said, and Aquila had offered him a chamber of his own, as befitted his nephew's friend. But Esca had always slept with others, with his mother as a babe, with his brothers and father as a lad and a youth, with the other gladiators, hearing their sleep-bound breathing. The straw mattress was as comfortable as most other beds he'd ever had, and Marcus needed him now as much as he had a year and more ago, fresh from the ministrations of the healer with the knife.

Marcus' breathing was not peaceful this night, and Esca could hear him turning and shifting uneasily on his bed, although it was past midnight. Likely that was the sound that had wakened Esca just now.

He got up and went to Marcus' bedside. Even through the dimness, he could see that the other's face was drawn into a grimace of pain. It also looked as though Marcus were trying, without much success, to massage his own leg. "Leave that to me," said Esca, softly.

Marcus took his hand away and leaned back against his bolster with a weary sigh. Esca's fingers quested for Marcus' thigh in the darkness, easily finding the ridges of muscle and the small, hard seams of the recent scars. He set to work carefully, his hands and mind together remembering what the doctor Rufrius Galarius had told him and shown him. At last Marcus let out a faint, shaking breath of relief. "That is better, so much better. I am sorry I woke you."

Esca gave his leg a last pat and sat down on the edge of the bed. "In truth, I think I had wakened on my own. I was dreaming, and glad to leave it. Well, most of it."

"A nightmare?"

"Just so."

Marcus was silent. Perhaps he thought Esca's dream had been of the death of his father, his captivity, or the arena. "I dreamt of our flight over the hills of Valentia, but in my dream, the heather itself turned against us and held us prisoner."

"Ugh," said Marcus. "Yes, I can see why you would wish to wake from that. Do you think that you might be able to fall asleep again now?" 

"If you have no need of me, I could try." 

Esca rose to go back to his own mattress, but Marcus caught his wrist. "Stay here, with me. It must be cold there on the floor."

That was not so—Esca's pallet was well covered with thick rugs of good wool—but he was not inclined to argue with Marcus. The bed was easily wide enough for two. Marcus shifted back toward the wall to give him room and opened the blankets to welcome him in.

"You are cold," Marcus said.

"And you are not. So all is well, look you."

"Yes, it is," said Marcus, very quietly.

He rolled over onto his side, his bad leg on top, and Esca curled up behind him, one arm draped over his waist. "Not all my dreaming was so grim," Esca said, to Marcus' linen-clad shoulder. "At the end, when I think I was near to waking, I had the power of the tale, and so I dreamt of that one sweet night we had, ahead of the hounds of the north."

Marcus was silent, his breathing slow and deep, and Esca thought perhaps he'd fallen asleep: a good thing, surely.

"That would be a good dream," said Marcus, at last.

"It need not be just a dream," said Esca. He tightened his arm around Marcus, his palm flat against his friend's chest, and kissed the back of his neck.

"Hah. That tickles," said Marcus, and sighed. "Your hand feels so good on me. I am lucky to have you here, Esca."

"I will not leave you."

"Tell me —" said Marcus.

"What, then?" Esca pressed his cheek against Marcus' shoulder.

"Among your people, is it a shame for a man to take another man to his bed?"

"If he were never to take a wife, yes, it would be shame to his family. Or to force a young boy, against his will: much the same as to take liberties with another's daughter, But to turn to one's shield brother one time or three is … well, not the best thing, but no lasting shame, if both wish it."

Marcus drew one finger along the back of Escca's hand, tracing the lines of the tendons. "A man who loves men is mocked and shamed among us, most often."

"This I know: I have heard soldiers speak of it."

"Among Romans, as among your people, a man is expected to wed."

"What of your uncle?" Esca shifted to lean on one elbow, propping his head so that he could see Marcus' profile.

"He … as I understand it, the girl he loved died quite young. And so he has buried himself in his work. He is considered a bit odd, but such things do happen."

"Like a bard, perhaps: one who wanders from hearth to hearth likely would never marry."

"That is a wandering musician?"

"Yes, but you must not think of some entertainer in the street." Esca captured the hand that was toying with his and squeezed it. "A bard is wise, because he knows the old lore and because he knows and brings the news, and so all respect him."

"Yes, then: that is how most other citizens would regard my uncle."

"So what of you? Would they think you should marry?" Esca's voice sounded strained to his own ears.

Marcus laughed, a dark sound without mirth. "Who am I, that I should attract a woman? Should one of my uncle's friends wish this penniless cripple to take his beloved daughter to wed?"

"There is Cottia. She is fond of you."

"Cottia is a child," said Marcus. His hand was tense within Esca's.

"She will soon be at the age when she would be handfasted, were she still among the Iceni."

"Among Romans also, but I say she is a child, Esca."

"I will not argue her with you." Esca released his hand and ran his own palm gently but firmly along Marcus' scarred thigh. "But you are not a cripple, Marcus. When you have rested it enough, your leg will once again be as strong as those of most of these townsfolk."

"I still have no means to pay my way in the world. All I can do is live as my uncle's nephew, and that is not how a grown man would live." Marcus closed his hand over Esca's where it rested on his chest. "Let sleeping dogs lie, they say. Let us put this matter to bed, and us with it. I am so weary, my friend."

Esca kissed his shoulder. "Of course you are, and I am no friend to have made you speak of serious matters in your bed, in the middle of the night. Close your eyes, now, and sleep. There is no need to think of any of this until you are well again. And you _will_ be well: trust in your gods and mine, Marcus."

"You are the best friend anyone could have, Esca," said Marcus. "I will not hear anyone say a word against you: no, not even yourself."

"I'll not say another word, then; nor should you. Go to sleep."

Marcus sighed and tucked Esca's hand under his own cheek. It was hardly comfortable, but Esca did not protest. Soon Marcus was breathing deeply and slowly, and he relaxed at last into a good sleep, a healing sleep.

Until Marcus' leg was well again, thought Esca: not until spring, surely. It was not yet even midwinter. A season or more, and there was no other task before them. They would be together for a hundred days or more, with no need to trouble themselves as to the future. In the end, it would not be enough, but Esca intended to make the most of it.

And with that notion firmly fixed in his heart, he closed his eyes at last, to sleep without dreaming until dawn.

 


End file.
